Super Soldiers In Love Drabble Collection
by IShipItAllAndThenSome
Summary: An ongoing, unfinished compendium of short stories about super soldiers in love. Prompts are accepted. These will, eventually, also go on my Tumblr and AO3 accounts.
1. Daydreamer

**Drabbles. Because homework is boring. My iPod is on shuffle, and the first song that came up was Adele's Daydreamer. Enjoy.**

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><p>Bucky sat in the window of Steve's room, watching snow drift down lazily. He sipped at his hot chocolate - Clint insisted on the real thing, not the crap from packets - and licked the creamy remnants off his lip.<p>

Steve, furtive, scribbled, charcoal clutched between the side of his forefinger and his thumb, hand an inky mess, and did his best to capture Bucky's profile.

He'd drawn Bucky countless times - hell, Bucky'd been his first life model. But ever since HYDRA had gotten their hands on him, he'd been unwilling to let Steve draw him. He didn't like being under observation. He didn't like being watched; he said he could feel eyes on his skin.

"Whatcha drawin', Stevie?" Bucky asked, smiling knowingly.

"The prettiest thing in the room."

"Self portrait, huh?"

But the night before, curled up against Steve's chest, Bucky said, "It's okay if you guys look at me. I don't think I mind it anymore."

"Nah, jerk. I'm drawin' your smug face."

Bucky's cheeks, which had started filling out since the summer, warmed. "Well, don't stop now, punk. I doubt you're done."

Steve grinned like a fool and put the tip of his charcoal back down against the page.


	2. My Blood

**Another one. This one was inspired by My Blood by Ellie Goulding. **

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><p>Bucky tugged Steve's sweatshirt tighter around his shoulders, fending off the chill from the poorly insulated window. The metal of his arm conducted cold pretty well, leaving the attachment points in his shoulder to practically freeze, but it served to distract him from the scritch-scratching of Steve's charcoal on paper.<p>

He thought he'd never be okay with Steve watching him like this again. Capturing him. The Egyptians believed that if you captured a person's likeness perfectly, their soul would be stolen from their body and given to the image. Steve's eyes were like that - they pinned you down, stripped away the excess, and laid you bare, took you in. Eye contact with Steve was like being precious enough to steal.

Somehow, since the summer, Bucky had grown into his skin. He didn't like his arm, he didn't like his unfamiliar strength and speed, he didn't like that his body had been tampered with.

But he liked the way Steve looked at him, and he liked that there was a record.

Steve's drawings meant someone knew where he was, and instead of raising Bucky's hackles like it had since he'd been captured, it filled him with warmth.

He was protected. He was loved.

Steve kept drawing, and Bucky took another sip under his watchful gaze.


	3. Green Light

**Another one. This one was inspired by Green Light by Florence and the Machine. **

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><p>Natasha clicked on the CD player, sliding in socked feet over the hardwood floor of Phil's apartment, pirouetting gracefully to smoky, languorous jazz, listening to the sound of her boys' laughter in the next room. It was her turn to make lunch, and while her skills extended no further than pasta, sandwiches, soups, and cutting veggies for salad and crudite, she was happy to prepare a simple meal for the people she cared about.<p>

After finely dicing an onion with methodical precision, hard-won and hard-earned, she started melting butter in a skillet, the sizzle and the smell warming her as she _eschappe_'d in place. With a flick of her wrist, the skillet was filled with little cubes of onion, and the smell filled the apartment, delectable.

As they browned, she pounded turkey flat, coated the slices with ground sage, salt, and pepper, and laid the tenderized meat in the skillet alongside the onions. From there, she heated up another pan and sliced fluffy Cuban bread from the bakery two blocks over into sandwich-sized chunks, cutting them open and splaying them wide so the insides could toast.

Once everything was cooked, she swayed to the fridge, grabbing apple butter and arugula, assembling sandwiches for her boys. They were still steaming hot when she sashayed to Steve's bedroom door, knocking once to alert them of her presence before stepping into the room.

"Smells good," Steve said, grinning.

"I figured it was late enough for lunch."

Bucky slid off the windowsill and took his plate, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "Thanks, Natka."

"Anytime, Yasha."

He took a bite without hesitating, and she smiled.


	4. Allison

**Another one. This one was inspired by The Pixies' Allison. **

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><p>Phil came home from the grocery with Clint, bags upon bags of produce in hand, and were greeted with the sight of Steve, Natasha, and Bucky passing each other around, Swing dancing in a joyful mess.<p>

Bucky's hair was bound up in a sloppy ponytail and bobbed in time with the beat as Natasha spun him into Steve's arms. Natasha's curls swung around her shoulders as she kept time, two-stepping with herself as Steve dipped Bucky.

They moved fluidly, weaving and ducking and effortlessly working together, swapping partners as easily as kids swap crayons. Steve spun Bucky out again just in time to catch Natasha, who ran at him just like she had in their first fight together, and lift her high over his head with one hand, the other reeling Bucky back into his broad chest.

Natasha, hands on his shoulders, slid down so that her feet were on the floor and, wrapped up in each other, they revolved to the slowing music, cheeks flushed, eyes shut.

Clint grinned at the sight of them and nudged Phil's hip.

"Oh, hey, you two," Natasha said, blinking lazily. "Come join the party."

After setting the groceries down in the kitchen, Clint and Phil did just that, and the room was alive.


	5. I Don't Know What To Do

**Another one. This one was inspired by Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson's I Don't Know What To Do. **

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><p>The fire escape outside of their room was dusted with snow, but two couch cushions and a blanket were enough to keep them warm. They drank more of Clint's hot chocolate - this batch had orange extract in it, and was just about the most delicious thing ever - in between lazy, loving kisses, and watched the stars grow bright against the velvet blue of the night sky.<p>

Natasha buried her feet under Bucky's thigh, stretching her lean legs over Steve's lap and resting her head on his shoulder, drawing stick figures in the snow. Steve, playfully competitive, drew fully realized portraits of Natasha, Bucky, and the rest of their housemates, fingers brushing against hers almost accidentally.

Bucky, nestled into the space between Steve's chin, swung his feet through the bars of the fire escape, the cold night air whistling through his toes.

"What do you want to bet Clint bought tasteless gag gifts for everyone?" Natasha asked quietly, visions of hyper-realistic sex toys poking out of Christmas stockings dancing through her head.

"You know him best, Nat, so whatever you're betting, I'll double."

"You're a bunch of bad influences, you are," Bucky teased. "All this talk of gambling!"

Natasha laughed, then crooned in an exaggerated twang, "My lover was a gambler, Lord, down in New Orleans..."

"You nut," Steve muttered, shaking his head and grinning.

"Your nut," Natasha countered, tapping the tip of his nose with the pad of her first finger. "And you like it that way."


	6. Carrion

**Yet another one. This one was inspired by Fiona Apple's Carrion.**

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><p>"I might never be him again, y'know," Bucky murmured into Steve's chest.<p>

"You don't need to be him," Steve assured him, cupping his jaw in one of those preternaturally warm, massive hands. "I love you, Buck, whether you're the you you are now or the you I loved when I was tiny and scrawny and sick. You can't scare me off."

"I did a lot of bad stuff."

"Everyone here's done bad stuff. No matter what blood you have on your hands, I'll still stand with you 'til the end of the line."

Bucky rolled on top of Steve and kissed him, hungry. Steve's mouth fell open against his onslaught, fingers braiding themselves into his thick hair, and nimble metal fingers plucked at the drawstring of Steve's pajama pants, reaching inside, seeking his warmth.

"You make me feel like a person, Stevie," Bucky whispered into his neck, stubble rasping over love-bitten skin.

"You are a person, Buck. You're not a weapon, you're not a tool, you're not a fist. You're a person, and you are loved."

Bucky descended on Steve like a bird of prey, devouring him, and he felt the realness of his longtime lover beneath his lips and thought it good.


	7. Cuffs And Cuddles

**This comes from a prompt on the Avengers kink meme which reads:**

**"Natasha- Old Habits, h/c,angst**

**Natasha still handcuffs herself to her bed at night."**

**I hope this fits the prompt, and I hope you all enjoy this. **

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><p>Bucky sat on his haunches, knees clutched to his chest, and peered through his hair at Natasha as she cuffed herself to the bed. "I'm not doing it," he whispered, shaking his head.<p>

"Nobody's askin' you to do it, Buck," Steve soothed, rubbing his bony back and kissing the top of his head before looking up at Natasha. "Right?"

"It's just for me," Natasha reassured them both. "They did it when I was little. I don't do it all the time. Just when I'm nervous, when I can't sleep."

They'd never slept in the same bed. Not all three of them, not at the same time.

"Is this too much, Natka?" Bucky asked. "You don't have to sleep with me if you're scared. I don't want to hurt you. I know I'm not safe."

"It's not about you." Natasha curled up on her side, tucking her free hand up around her neck and squeezing ever so slightly. "It's not about either of you. It makes me feel safe, that I'm doing it, that I have the key, that I can stop whenever I want."

Steve padded over to the bed and sat by Natasha's feet. "That's completely fine, Tasha. Your comfort comes first."

Bucky nodded, slowly shuffling over to the side of the bed that she faced out over, crouching in front of her and gently butting at her stomach, hands tucked away. He made himself small, powerless.

"I'm _not_ scared of you, Yasha," Natasha said fiercely, raking her delicate hand through his hair. "I'm not. Before you two, I shared beds with marks. I didn't like it, but I liked what it did. I liked having a purpose. This doesn't have a purpose. I'm not using you. You're not using me. We're just people, and I..."

"You're not sure if you're really a person yet," Bucky murmured, kissing the inside of her wrist. "Can I tell you a secret? Me, neither."

"We don't have to do this, you guys," Steve said, as if approaching wounded animals. "If you're not ready, we can put it off."

Natasha shook her head, scooting back towards the center of the bed and patting the space beside her. "Get in here."

Steve settled in at her back; Bucky nestled into her chest, tucked under her free arm.

_I'm real, _Natasha thought. _All of this is real. _

Steve draped his arm over both of them and pulled them in tight. "You're real," he promised, and Natasha felt it.

It took years for her to stop using the cuffs altogether, but her usage cut back drastically from then on out. She had warm arms to hold her in place and keep her real.

For the first time, she felt thoroughly, genuinely loved.

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><p><strong>Short as hell; my apologies. Also, my apologies for taking so long to update stuff. I do intend to update more things soon, but if you have any preferences for which one I update first, feel free to make your preferences known via PM or review; I also would love to take prompts. Feel free to address them to me through here, or through Tumblr; my url is just my username here dot tumblr dot com. <strong>

**Thank you for reading. **


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